Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery Read online

  “The ring!” she blurted and then without further explanation took off back down the street.

  When he caught up, she was on her hands and knees crawling around on the pavement in the alley.

  “What in God’s name are you doing woman?”

  “Ah-ha!” she cried and jumped to her feet. She held out her hand to him in triumph. In her palm rested the small scarab ring. “I thought I remembered holding it when the watch did its thing.”

  Simon’s face paled, and his hand trembled as he took the ring. Elizabeth watched the play of emotions across his face.

  “It’s a good thing, right?” she asked. His face was ashen. “Bad penny?”

  Simon looked up at her and clenched the ring in his hand. “Very much so.”

  She waited, but he offered nothing else in the way of explanation. “We can find another way.”

  “No,” Simon said and put the ring away in his pocket. “It should bring a good price.”

  He stood up a little straighter and nodded toward the street. What was it about the ring that frightened him so much? The tension in his body was palpable.

  “It’s getting late,” he said. Everything about his demeanor had changed. All the emotions he’d let seep out were tucked neatly away. Even his voice was different. Crisp and business-like. “We should find a place to stay the night.”

  “Right.”

  Simon stepped back and gestured down the alley. His face was again an impassive mask. The prospect of adventure didn’t seem quite as appealing as it had a few minutes ago. At least she wasn’t alone. Much. She let out a deep breath and started out of the alley. Together they rounded the corner and stepped into the past and perhaps into their future.

  Chapter Four

  Calvin Coolidge said the business of America was business. And nowhere was it more evident than the streets of Manhattan in 1929. From the red-hot vendors and shoe-shine stands to the upscale Stork Club and New York Stock Exchange—money was in constant flow and so were the people.

  Elizabeth could feel the energy of a city at the height of its power and purpose. People walked with a fast pace suited to the jazz rhythms of the nightclubs. Traffic surged along the streets in tempo with the city’s heartbeat. Raucous, dizzying and intoxicating—New York was a party spiraling toward the inevitable calling of the cops.

  The people were well-dressed by modern standards. The only ones casually attired were workmen in their coveralls. She felt as if she’d shown up for a wedding in a potato sack. Or worse. There was sharp disapproval in the eyes of people they passed and something she didn’t want to define in a few of the men. She tugged self-consciously at the hem of her T-shirt.

  “I wish everyone would stop staring,” she whispered to Simon.

  Simon arched a brow and said off-handedly, “I’m sure your T-shirt has nothing to do with it.”

  “What? It’s brand new, mostly. What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing a little more of it wouldn’t cure,” he said and looked down at her uncomfortably. “It is rather on the small side, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth stopped walking and tugged at her shirt again. Getting fashion tips from a man who thought a Windsor instead of a four-in-hand knot was accessorizing was really too much. “This is a perfectly good shirt.”

  “In another time, perhaps,” Simon said, lowering his voice. “But here it’s a little revealing.”

  She looked down at her shirt. It was small, but everything was covered. All the important stuff anyway. She looked up in time to see Simon avert his eyes.

  He cleared his throat and struggled to find his words. The skin of his neck reddened. Was he actually blushing? He cleared his throat again. “Your... chest is... displayed.”

  Elizabeth looked at the clothes the other women on the street were wearing and finally understood. A part of her hadn’t quite accepted that she wasn’t just the observer here, but also the observed. She was really here. A wolf whistle from a passing truck put the exclamation point on it. She was a bright, perceptive person, but had a huge blind spot when it came to men. She never noticed them noticing her, and the realization always made her uncomfortable. Very self-conscious now, she hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Simon sighed heavily and pulled his sweater over his head, leaving him wearing only a crisp white oxford shirt. He held the sweater out to her, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “Put this on.”

  It was ridiculously large for her. The sleeves fell well past her hands and the hem rested barely above her knees. But it was a good fit in other ways, better ways. It smelled like Simon—clean with a hint of aftershave. The weight of the soft fabric was comforting, like the pressure of a hand on the small of her back. She let herself snuggle into it and then noticed Simon looking at her with a strange, far off look in his eyes. Whatever he’d been thinking, he pushed it away quickly and found a fascinating spot of gum on the sidewalk.

  Elizabeth pushed the long sleeves up to her elbows. “We should be...”

  Simon put his hands in his pockets and nodded. Slowly they fell into step together again and joined the busy flow of pedestrians.

  They started in mid-town and after a few inquiries headed south toward the lower class sections where pawn shops would most likely be found. Before too long, the neighborhood changed. The streets were a little dirtier, and the people a little harder. The Lower East Side was a haven for immigrants and the working class, all of them trying to find their piece of the American dream.

  “There we go,” Elizabeth said and pointed to a sign “Arbogast J. Smith - Pawnbroker”.

  As they stepped inside, she was struck by how every pawnshop was like the next—a sad mixture of lost hope and second-hand dreams. The owner stood behind the glass-cased counter and looked up sharply when the bell at the top of the door announced their arrival.

  He was a tall, thin man with dark eyes that seemed unnaturally large behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Elizabeth shuddered. He looked like the proverbial spider, and she felt like the unwitting fly.

  “Why don’t you see what you can get for the ring and I’ll try to find some clothes,” Elizabeth said. She tried to shake the feeling she was being sized up for something unpleasant and browsed the shop’s wares.

  His large bug eyes followed her as she looked at the merchandise—clothes, jewelry and the inevitable saxophone. Why was it every pawn shop seemed to have a tarnished sax hanging in one corner? A bit of someone’s soul dangling by a thin cord. A piece of someone’s heart taken in trade. She’d left a few chapters of her life behind in glass cases.

  She noticed Simon hadn’t started haggling and nodded her head toward the counter to prod him along. She thought about doing it herself. Simon was clearly out of his element. But could a woman in the 1920’s get the same price as a man? Hell, they couldn’t even in the next century. Some things were slow to change. She reminded herself to try to check her impulses. A headstrong woman in this time would be as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party, and they couldn’t afford to stick out at all. She spied a rack of second-hand dresses in the back and went to find something suitable.

  Simon watched her disappear into the back of the store and then turned his attention to the owner.

  The man wasted no time appraising Simon, and a thin smile stretched his pinched mouth. “Name’s Smitty. What do you have for me today?”

  Simon didn’t have much experience in bargaining, but he knew a shark when he saw one. He took the ring out of his pocket but didn’t hand it over just yet. “A family heirloom. It’s quite valuable.”

  Smitty’s lips quivered in anticipation. “Of course.” He held out his bony hand.

  Simon hesitated, looking at the man’s black, smudged fingers. He had little choice though, and set the ring on the counter. He loathed the idea of pawning it. Even though the ring brought with it painful memories, they were the last he had of his grandfather. The watch and the ring had come to symbolize those final moments—frightening an
d confusing, but all he had left.

  Elizabeth poked her head around the corner and held out a pale, floral print dress. “Is there somewhere I can try this on?”

  “There’s a partition screen in the back,” Smitty said, as he stopped examining the ring and leaned over the counter to stare at Elizabeth.

  She came around the corner and put the dress on the counter. As she started to pull the sweater over her head, Simon gave in to the ridiculous urge to block Smitty’s view. Not that she was undressing, but there was something sensual about the way she moved, the way her hair fell across her shoulders.

  She smiled and handed Simon his sweater. “Thanks for the loan.”

  He watched Elizabeth walk to the back of the store and then turned to Smitty, whose leer slid effortlessly into an oily smile.

  “Mr. Smith,” Simon bit out. “If you don’t mind...”

  Smitty’s lips tightened, his mouth looking like a gash cut into the middle of his face. Simon clenched his jaw. He couldn’t afford to say the things he wanted to. Not now, when they needed money so badly. The sooner they finished their business here the better. “The ring,” he said tightly.

  “Of course,” Smitty said and examined the small scarab. He turned it over in his hands and looked at the setting closely. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “We’re new in town,” Simon said. Now he was going to be forced to make small talk with this creature.

  “Where ya staying?”

  Simon hesitated. “We haven’t settled in quite yet.”

  Smitty looked up from examining the scarab. “You on the lam?”

  “Of course not,” Simon said and racked his brain for viable story. “We just got off the train and... I really don’t see how it’s any of your affair.”

  “You’re a little jumpy aren’t ya? No luggage, odd clothing. If this ring’s hot it’ll affect the price.”

  “Now, see here—”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  Simon’s patience was wearing thin. “We are not on the run.”

  “No?” He glanced down at Simon’s hand and saw he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Out for a little fun then?”

  “What exactly are you implying?”

  Smitty shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first man to have a little milk without buying the cow.”

  Simon reached the end of his rope. No matter how badly they needed money he wasn’t going to tolerate such insolence. “Mr. Smith,” Simon ground out. “If I were you—”

  “We’re newlyweds,” Elizabeth said as she came to Simon’s side. She hooked her arm through his and turned to Smitty with her sweetest smile. “He’s still getting used to the idea.”

  “Yes,” Simon stammered. Smitty seemed to step back a little. Apparently, Simon’s claim on her was enough to bring the man up short. It was a ridiculous charade, but if it gave Elizabeth a modicum of safety he’d gladly keep up pretenses. “It all happened rather unexpectedly.”

  “Very,” Elizabeth said with a grin, her eyes bright with mischief.

  Smitty narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have rings.”

  “There wasn’t time to see to everything properly,” Simon said. “We were hoping you could help us with that. Unless, of course, you’d rather continue to insult my wife,” he finished, laying his hand possessively over hers.

  Smitty didn’t seem to believe them, but if it meant more business he clearly didn’t care what their story was. “I think I might have something.”

  “I thought you might,” Simon said. He looked down at Elizabeth sternly, but his pique melted. The dress she was wearing was simple, but she looked wonderful. The pale blue-green pattern made her hair seem that much more striking. A series of ridiculously tiny buttons ran up the front, stopping at the base of the v-neck. Her pale skin led to the enticing arch of her collarbone. The scalloped hem fell to her knees, giving him a glimpse of her shapely legs. Elizabeth seldom wore dresses, and he wondered why when she was so enchanting in them.

  Elizabeth ducked her head shyly. “Do you like?”

  “Very much,” Simon said softly.

  Elizabeth blushed and stepped back. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m gonna need shoes too. I’ll just go see what’s back there,” she said and disappeared again into the back of the store.

  Simon watched her walk away. She should definitely wear dresses more often. Or perhaps it was best she didn’t. He had enough trouble keeping his feelings under wraps as it was. The softening of his heart whenever she was near was untenable enough. Now, with seemingly every man they encountered leering at her, it was almost impossible to hide how he felt.

  “I’ll give you thirty for the ring,” Smitty said.

  “Thirty? It’s worth ten times that.”

  “Got a crack in the stone. Thirty.”

  “Thirty-five.”

  Smitty’s cold face split into a grim smile. “I say it’s worth thirty.”

  “Unconscionable,” Simon muttered.

  “Take it or leave it. No skin off my nose.”

  Simon knew there had to be other pawn shops and glanced out the door. The light had already started to dim. They couldn’t afford to search all night for another shop. It was a crime to sell the ring for so little, but they needed money. Now. “Fine,” he said.

  “The ticket’s good for sixty days, then it goes in the general merchandise,” Smitty said and wrote out the receipt. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  “I assure you,” Simon muttered. “The pleasure was entirely yours.”

  Once they’d made their purchases—one dress, one suit, one broadcloth shirt, one pair of ladies shoes, a pair of imitation gold rings and a small suitcase—they had less than twenty dollars left.

  The street was dimly lit, but still filled to the edges with people hurrying this way and that. No wonder they called it the city that never sleeps. As far as Simon could tell it never even took a breath.

  They walked aimlessly in an uncomfortable silence until Elizabeth suggested they ask someone for directions to some boarding houses. Simon didn’t think they needed help, but when they passed the same little diner twice, he finally relented. With vague directions to head down Market Street, they set off again. The uncomfortable silence joined them.

  “I’m sorry about springing the whole just married thing on you back there,” Elizabeth said suddenly.

  Simon looked at her, waiting for more of an explanation.

  “It sort of came out, but it’s probably a good cover. We can’t exactly rent a room together if we aren’t. I mean we could, but I’ve had enough of being called a prostitute for one day,” she said with wan smile. “I guess we could get two rooms. Be most of our money, but if you’d rather—”

  “No,” Simon said. One room was the best idea and not just monetarily. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight while they were here. And if the few reactions she’d gotten from men so far were any indication, she was going to need some looking after. “One room will do, Miss West.”

  “Professor,” she said. “I think maybe you shouldn’t call me Miss West anymore. At least not in public. It’s okay to call me Elizabeth. I know it’s awkward, but...”

  “We don’t have any choice, do we?” he said too sharply. He rolled his shoulders to release some of the tension. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t get a grip on himself. He was used to having a place for everything and everything in its place. This sudden turn into the unknown left him off-balance and he didn’t like the feeling one bit. Not to mention being here with her. He’d managed quite well to control himself around her before. But then, he’d been able to hold academia between them. He could step back and regain himself, rebuild the wall she unwittingly felled. But now, they were forced together and he wasn’t sure what to do. For the first time, he wasn’t sure of anything. And they’d only been there three hours.

  He turned his head away from her and kept his eyes on the opposite side of the street. Dilapidated tene
ments and brownstones nearly black at the base with soot told them they were in the right area. This area they could afford at least. Simon watched the people gathered on the stoops warily and gripped the handle of their suitcase that much tighter. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he saw signs for rooms to rent.

  They settled on the Manchester Arms. It was an average sized residence hotel—three stories, no elevator, but the lobby was clean and the price was right. Seven dollars for the week, paid up front. Simon took the key from the desk clerk, and they started up the stairs.

  “He was nice. I was beginning to wonder if everyone here was just nasty,” Elizabeth said. “Gives me faith in humanity again.”

  “You’re easily persuaded,” he said, squinting to read the door numbers in the poorly lit hallway.

  “You’re such a cynic. I thought he was nice.”

  “A bit too nice, I think.”

  “Come on, newlyweds always get special treatment,” she said. “Ah. Here we are. Room Thirty-four.”

  Simon set the suitcase down and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and gestured for Elizabeth to go first.

  “Aren’t you going to carry the bride over the threshold?” she teased.

  She was impudent and absolutely charming. “Miss—”

  “Elizabeth. You know, you haven’t said it once.”

  Simon took a deep breath. “Elizabeth.”

  She blushed a little and grinned. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  What could he say? Yes, it was. That saying it meant he’d crossed some invisible line he’d drawn for himself? That the mere thought of her name made his stomach drop with desire? That the way it fell across his lips felt like a prayer he wasn’t worthy of?

  “No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”

  “Good,” she said with a smile and took a step into the apartment. The room was dark, and she felt along the wall for a light switch. She found it quickly and turned it on.

  Simon picked up the case and followed behind. She stopped a few feet inside the door. He was about to ask what was wrong, when he saw it for himself.